Sober
by luft
Summary: because we all resort to the bottle at times, to make going home to an empty apartment and confronting all our demons easier.
1. Chapter 1

_Trying something different this time round..trying to get rid of the writer's block going on for the other fics i'm working on...as usual, inspired by a song._

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Her brain had stopped registering the bitter taste of the lager as she lifted the bottle to her lips and took a long swig. She felt surprisingly bold and more comfortable with her lack of company and the occasional stares from the other patrons here, Sam Adams being the only one she needed tonight. She held on to the bottle tight, her weapon against the pitiful glances from the women there with their girlfriends, the suggestive leers of the other men in the bar hoping she would be their easy lay tonight. She smirked. She was not drunk, she was feeling way too good to be. And no way in hell was she going to go home with one of them desperate horny bastards here, though she wished one of them had the guts to ask her. She had had enough of men for the night, and god was she itching to kick one of those men who saw and treated women as property right smack in the balls.

It started out as a pretty good morning. She had woken up with ease, had a delicious meal before leaving for work. She was not caught in a traffic jam, and she was having a good hair day. Not that she would have told anyone that she was concerned about such things..well. Not that anyone would have guessed, either. But the point was, the day started out pretty good. She felt she was ready for anything that the shift threw at her. Hodges' sarcasm and the sexual tension between him and Wendy. Nick's cover of over-optimism, to deal with his near-brush with death. Warrick's growing dejection about the problems in his marriage to Tina, and the longing looks he shot Catherine (and Catherine's ass) once in a while. Grissom's hot and cold (lately leaning more towards the cold side) game with their feelings, and his unconscious flirtations with Sofia. Greg's flirtations with her and his (and she would only grudgingly admit it) annoyingly endearing behaviour as her protege. She was up for it all.

Until she got to her scene. Another abused-till-finally-dead woman, another unrepentant "That-whorebitchslut-deserved-it" partner in handcuffs (and in this case, it was her fiance, who was himself bangin' the blonde, double-silicone-Ds waitress two houses down). She stared at the bottle of her now lukewarm beer in disgust as she swirled the remaining liquid and downed it all in a gulp. "Hey Marty!" The small, still somewhat sober part of her brain told her that it was not a good sign that she knew the bartender by name, or that he immediately sat down another opened bottle of cold lager in front of her just by her calling out his name. She smiled her large winning smile at him, and sat down to enjoy her beer. She frowned in slight concentration as she swallowed the cool liquid. Where was the other empty bottle? She looked around and saw Marty throwing around liquor bottles and attempting to catch it behind his back. He saw her and gave her a smile. Right, she remembered now. She had pulled him closer as he had sat her new beer down and told him very nicely that he was the only man whom she could tolerate at this given moment. She also remembered Marty behaving rather strangely, flinching away from her, rubbing his ear and grabbing the empty bottle away, shaking his head. Men. She never understood them. She couldn't decide whether she found that strangely amusing, or absolutely enraging, and hence the accompanying facial expression to said emotions. That increasingly small, somewhat sober part of her brain was telling her that fluctuating between emotions was an even worse sign for her state of being, but she just shrugged to that and took an even longer sip, just to show to herself that she. was. NOT. drunk.

Small, sober brain-Sara told her that challenging your own rational self was a cause for doubting one's sobriety.

She wondered, really, what was so wrong about how she was feeling now. She was certainly feeling less hurt and angry and pissed off with every fucking thing. She was ready to throw a punch at the nearest person who dared to tell her to come down. She was ready to wipe the smirk off the sorry asshole's face when they barred her from the interrogation room for being too hostile. She was ready to tie him to a chair and burn his balls off with her cigarette when she was at autopsy with Doc and Greg, and was told the extent of abuse and injuries the poor woman suffered at said asshole's hands.

Cigarette...why not have one now? She fished around for her pack in her purse, and found that she had none. Damnit, of course, she had promised herself that she would quit smoking this month.

"Hey Marty!"

He came over with another bottle of beer in his hands, and looked questioningly at the still half-full bottle in her hands,

"You gotta cigarette?"

Marty shook his head at the woman. He was new to the bar, but had already seen her a couple of times the whole two weeks he was working here. Sara Something, that's what his only other colleague and boss Norma-the-waitress told him the first day on his job, which was also the first day he saw her. "Always alone, always sits at the bar, always drinks beer. Works in law enforcement, graveyard shift. On a good day, she'll have one or three, and smile politely at everyone, pay and leave without saying a word. On a bad day, she'll have more, and start telling me or the bartender about work before ending up chatting away about her men problems. There was a Hank and a Griss-something, and now its between Griss-something and a Greg. On a rough day, well, we have her home address in our lil' black book of shame for you to give to the cab driver after she falls off her bar stool."

Looks like it was going to be one of those nights. And if Norma was right, and Marty was starting to believe she was spot-on, he was going to need to familiarise himself with her address. He sighed. Surely, her life could not be that bad to lead to this? He hoped she had sorted out her men troubles to have someone taking care of her and that massive hangover she would get the next day. He looked up as he heard a crash and a giggle. Drunk Sara Something who works in law enforcement had fallen off her bar stool, as Norma said she would. He put the bottles he had been practicing his tricks on down. She had not sorted out her men troubles, then. There was no way in his world that a lady who had a man waiting for her at home would get this drunk alone.

"C'mon sweetheart, up you go." He picked her up from under her arms and propped her back onto the stool against the bar. She looked at him all confused, and started blabbering about a Nick, and Texas, and that she was sorry he almost died and that she loved him like a brother. Then she looked confused, and started telling him his accent was all wrong, but only Nick would call her sweetheart. He tried telling her that that's because he was from New York, and then she started to blab on about that Greg that Norma told him about. Marty grew even more concerned and panicked, and quickly got back behind his bar to find that lil' black book of shame. He was still young, had just dropped out of college. He had never worked in a bar before, and had just turned legal a few months before getting his bartender qualifications and getting hired here by Norma. Comforting and dealing with stone-cold-drunk adult women police officers with men problems was not something he had ever encountered in his twenty-one years.

As he looked for the book - where the hell did Norma put that damned thing?- he heard snippets of her surprisingly still-clear voice. She had a relatively low and gravely timbre, something he suspected to be the result of years of smoking. He recalled his Grandma Jane, who had a similar tone.

"..and he would never hurt me the way Grissom does, he never has. And yet, I find myself strangely more attracted to this greying, bespectacled, thick-around-the-waist, middle-aged boss of mine. I mean, who knows if he could still get it up, right? And Greg is fine. He is..no Warrick is fine. But taken. Nick, Nick is fi-ine. But Greg..Greg is, Greg is..God, sometimes when we're alone I just want to shove him against the wall and tear his clothes of and rub that mineral oil and liquid latex he is so fond of all over that Godalmighty fi-ine body of his..."

Marty gulped. This was way to much information, especially for a twenty-one year old who dropped out of college because he was having sexual fantasies of his girlfriend's twin brother. He had to find that book, pronto!

"..and ride him like a cowboy. Or cowgirl. Whichever, gender doesn't matter anymore in this day and age, does it? And can you in actuality ride someone against a wall though?.." Here, she paused, and looked pensively and meditatively at the bottle of Bols Blue behind the counter. She was starting to attract the sniggering and interested attention of the rest of the patrons in the bar. Marty was starting to feel hot under the collar from all the stares, and threw a murderous glance at Norma, who was standing in the corner behind the till watching the scene with amusement and no offer of help to find that book whatsoever. Thank God he worked the dayshift, there was hardly anyone at this time in the morning, except for old lonely men and hardcore alkies and winos. Then Sara looked away from the Bols Blue and straight at Marty, and started talking again.

"My counsellor told me I sought validation in inappropriate places. I think he was just trying to find an academic-sounding and convoluted way of saying that I had the female version of an Oedipus complex. I suppose that had something to do with the fact that my mother killed my abusive father in front of my eyes when I was barely a teenager.."

Marty stopped dead in his search for the book. Her mother killed her father, in front of her? Holy shit, no wonder she's so screwed up..Ah! He found it, finally. Norma had left it taped to the wooden panel of the bar, behind the bottle of Bols Blue. Damn that woman.

"..and when I found out what that asshole did to his fiancee, I flipped. But I didn't want to be home alone in an empty apartment brooding about it the whole night, so here I am, drunk and in a funk. Have you found the book yet Marty? Why do you look so surprised? I know how it goes, God and everyone here knows I've been doing this often enough in this forsaken place. Good day guys, goodbye Norma, I assume you've called the cab..."


	2. Chapter 2

_Not for those who are vehemently against drinking_

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Sara let Marty lead her outside and wait with her for the taxi. She was beginning to feel the high ebb away. She was thankful that the rest of the patrons and Norma did not care enough about her to remember the embarrassing details she let shoot out of her mouth when she was at the peak of her drunkenness. Marty, however, didn't seem to have fallen into apathy when it comes to her. He was looking at her all weirdly, and trying to clear his throat and find a way to say whatever it was that was on his mind. Sara stared at him searchingly, and in his confusion, he let go of the arm he had around her and put his hands in his pocket, a familiar gesture for when he felt helpless. She felt the world suddenly spin, and suddenly she found herself cheek-to-concrete, staring at some blackened, chewed-up piece of gum on the sidewalk. She knew then that her life had hit rock bottom, that this had to end. She closed her eyes and felt the tears that she had kept so long at bay finally fall.

Marty stared at the sobbing woman on the sidewalk in mounting hysteria and confusion. The taxi was still not here, and he had absolutely no idea what to do. His mother raised him to be a gentleman, and even though he was having doubts about his own sexual orientation, he still did not think anywhere in the world would anyone approve of a man, gay or not, leaving a hapless, unhappy drunk woman to her own devices. He ran a hand through his hair and looked down at her slender, curled-up frame. She had her arms wrapped around her, and he saw her purse lying at her feet. She was getting stares from the passers-by, and Marty bent down to help her sit up. She clung to him and sobbed even harder onto his t-shirt. There was no way he was going to send her home alone, not after her bar-side confessions. She needed a friend, but he had to work.

He picked up her purse and rifled through its contents until he found her cellphone. He scrolled through the phone book, he had heard enough from her tonight to learn a few names from her co-workers. He thought back to her ramblings. He found a Brass, but recalled he was a homicide detective. Somehow, the way Sara talked about him made him wish he never had to face this Brass character. So he moved on to Brown, Warrick and thought back to what she had said about him. Fine, but taken. He scrolled down to the next names. Under C he found a Catherine Willows, though why she had not saved it under 'W', like everything else in her phone book, he did not know. But he recalled that she mentioned that Catherine and her had a falling out a few months ago. And that she had a daughter. And was the object of Brown, Warrick's lust. So no to that too. He scrolled down till he found The Grissom. No first name. Just Grissom. Her middle-aged boss, the subject of her Oedipus-like desire and the root cause of her problems. He looked again at the now-sleeping woman on his right. He was tempted to call this Grissom to pick her up, but he did not think it would go down well with her, or him. Besides, he didn't think it was that good for your career to be caught in this state by your boss..

Marty sighed in frustration as he scrolled through her contact list. He was passing judgements on these people as though he knew them! He let out a small chuckle at the absurdity, earning even more disapproving looks from the passers-by. What did he care? He was going to be a pariah anyway, once he decided to come out of the closet..

He finally found The Greg when he reached 'S' and saw Sanders, Greg. He thought of calling him to pick Sara up, she seemed to be as vocal about her affections for him as he was for her. (He tried to imagine the fine body she was verbally lusting about..no not now, Marty! he thought as he felt the familiar sensation of his blood rushing down south..) But as was the case with Grissom, he did not want to put both of them in an awkward situation, for it sounded like this Greg liked this Sara lady too. And she was in no condition right now to impress this Greg into confessing his love for her and taking her for a ride into the sunset. So he decided to call the next familiar name he saw, Stokes, Nick. After all, Sara did say she 'loved him like a brother', and he remembered taking care of his older sister when she drunk herself silly on his dad's half-full bottle of vodka after Jeremy Nichols from the soccer team dumped her in twelfth grade.

After what could only be the twelfth ring, he heard an irritated voice answer the phone. "Damnit Sara, unless you're lying naked and bleeding by Highway 69, I'm not gonna entertain you. I'm finally getting somewhere with Michelle right now, and I'm not leaving, even if it is to pick you up blind drunk on the sidewalk outside some bar. Go call Greg, god knows you two both need to fuck each other good and spare us the sexual tension! Hodges and Wendy and Catherine and Warrick and you and Grissom are more than enough to deal with already!" And Nick slammed the receiver down.

Marty stared at her cellphone. He suddenly felt very sorry for the woman sleeping on his side, despite her drooling on his t-shirt and reeking of booze. From what he heard tonight, she lived alone, grew up abused, saw her mom kill her dad, went to foster care, got cheated on by boyfriends and strung along by middle-aged men-bosses, had a temper and for all its definitions, was alone. He felt his shoulders slump and he wiped her still-wet cheeks. If he could understand anything from her life, it was being alone. After confessing to his girlfriend and dropping out of college, he had had no one else to turn to. Norma was alright, she had a kind heart beneath that tough-as-nails, sarcastic exterior, but she wasn't the kind to inspire having heart-to-hearts with. He had not yet got the guts to call his sister and talk to her about his little predicament. As for his friends..well. Macho-wannabe frat boys don't exactly take to homosexuality well, so he had just quietly slipped out of their lives one night. He was feeling the familiar yet comforting sense of despondency and self-pity start creeping up on him, when the phone in his hand suddenly started vibrating.

"Oh shit!" The caller-ID function flashed the now-familiar name on the screen. He stared at Sara's phone in slight terror and bewilderment. This was certainly not something he had expected. He frowned. Why was he even anticipating and predicting what her life would be like? If he were to be honest with himself, it was all schadenfreude, that wonderful German word whose existence justified you feeling better because you know there are worse people out there. And Sara was definitely worse off than him. So, it was only natural that he was feeling a wee bit jealous when realising that maybe, someone cared for her after all. And seeing that name flash on the screen, it certainly was someone she whom she would want to care for her. Marty looked at the pathetic woman on his shoulder again. Oh well. He was really glad that she might not be alone after all. He tucked a stray hair behind her ears, and picked up the phone.


	3. Chapter 3

Marty had to fumble around for a few seconds before he found the hang-up button on her phone. He felt his fingers tremble slightly and his heart beating like that jungle drum that girl on the radio kept singing about. He gulped, and looked guiltily at the woman still sleeping and drooling beside him. He hoped he did not just contribute to screwing up her life even further.

It was safe to say that the call did not go as expected, not at all.

He had felt so much more optimistic for Sara when he saw who had called. His jubilant mind was dancing, he does care for her after all! He felt his a warm and fuzzy feeling, as well as a twinge of excitement, spread through his entire being. It was like how he felt when he was watching Sex and the City with his ex-girlfriend, and Big had proposed to Carrie at the end with one of her shoes...except more intense now, because he was actually a part of this romantic..comedy? tragedy? dramedy? Oh well, whatevs, with a smile on his face he picked up her phone.

He found them both talking at the same time.

"Hello Gr-"

"Sara. I need you to come down to the lab. We had a late call last night, and I need some help."

Marty pulled the phone away from his ear at stared at her phone, dumbfounded. Grissom's tone was brusque, direct and to the point. He did not even ask how she was doing, or whether she was free or even up to working so soon on her day off, no less, after coming back from work. Hell, he did not even seem to notice that 'Sara' sounded like a man! Marty felt indignant for her. He was starting to think that this Grissom man was not worth her time after all.

"Sara?" He heard the tinny voice ask through the speaker.

"I, uhh, don't think she's able to go into work Mr. Grissom. She's ahh, not feeling well at the moment. She needs her rest. I'm sure there are other people you can call." Marty hoped to God he was not playing Russian roulette with this woman's life and career.

"Who is this? Greg, is that you? Is she ok?" Grissom sounded rather confused and puzzled.

"Uh, no, I'm uhh, Marty, I'm a friend of Sara's. Uhh, look, I need to uhh, go...I need to go take care of her. Hope you find somebody else who could help you and uhh sorry about Sara but she's really in no condition to work right now...uhh Bye Mr. Grissom."

It has been five minutes since he put down the phone now, and Grissom had not called her back.

Marty was shook out of his thoughts and the small funk he felt himself in by the loud honk of the taxi. He gently shook Sara's shoulder, but all he got was a grunt, and a mumbled 'Go away..'. He tried a few more times to wake her up, but she seemed as dead to the world as the next passed-out drunk. There was no way she was going to be able to get in that cab and get out on her own volition.

He was about to get up and carry her when he saw a shadow looming over them both. Norma had come out, probably wondering why her only bartender had been gone for so long. She had her hands folded across her chest, and a surprisingly gentle smile on her face. It was like seeing a snarling bulldog try to smile at it's prey. The look didn't suit the heavy-set, chain-smoking, mustachioed and sarcastic woman with artificial red hair. Marty cringed inwardly.

"Take her home, Marty." She looked at him again, this time a mischievous twinkle was in her eye, as she winked at him before going back in. Oh dear. Norma probably thought he fancied this Sara woman.

The taxi honked twice more, and he could see the impatient look the cabby was giving him. With a one, two, three, he heaved Sara up to her feet, and proceeded to half-drag, half-carry her into the cab. His large, and now very clammy hands, clumsily flipped through the little black book of shame, still in his pocket thank God, and found her address. The taxi sped off before he could even buckle up.

He looked at the woman who was now gently snoring beside him. All he needed to do was send her back home, put her in bed, and go back to work. Simple.


End file.
